"we're free."
she says it brightly — maybe too brightly — with a practiced smile perfectly plastered over her lips. she needs to sell this, beth knows, because in order for ruby and annie to be on board, they have to see her confidence, they have to see that this can work.
( what she can't let them see is the way she feels a little hollow inside, like when she loosed the first bullet from the chamber of rio's gun, with it went a piece of her heart, a piece of her sanity. by the time he fell to the floor, something else fell too, something crashed to the ground and shattered beyond repair and the only way for her to move forward is to bury it )
it takes a little convincing, a lot of practice, but there's something satisfying about doing it on their own, not being beholden to someone else —about not having their fates hanging over their heads with every step.
turner is gone — maybe not for good, but gone for now — and by the time he resurfaces ( because beth knows he will, knows that eventually the gratitude for saving his life will be overshadowed by the humiliation she put him through ), she plans to have things running so seamlessly, that he'll see nothing but the mother he told her to be.
a few months later, and they've all sort of settled into a routine.
the dealership took a hit after the raid, but dean managed to get it back up and running — with beth's help — and things are almost back to normal. officially, she still manages boland motors with him, they trade off days at the dealership in the same way they trade off days with the kids. it works, and it works better than she'd expected, better than beth had thought them capable after everything that had happened. turns out, they're much better at co-parenting as separate entities than as a married couple. and she's content with that.
unofficially, her job is something else entirely —something that isn't printed on any books, in any ledger. she's not using the dealership to move the money, because she promised dean it would remain separate, clean, free from anything that might put it in jeopardy again. but beth has some ideas in the works, some planned investments that could make things easier — both in making her seem legit, and in providing an opportunity for the business.
she's returning from one of these investment opportunities — a meeting with a real estate agent who manages properties in the greater villages. it's a long shot, because beth's credit is nonexistent, but the guy she met with didn't seem all that concerned after she'd pointedly flashed him a bit of cash when she went digging in her purse for a pen. it brings a smile to her face now, as she climbs out of the van, because things seem to be falling into place nicely, and finally, she thinks, finally maybe it'll stop feeling like she's drowning.
so engrossed is she in these thoughts, that beth almost misses it. she'd unlocked the door, closed it behind her, tapped in the code for the security system ( call her paranoid, but she'd been overdue for an upgrade ), and set her purse down on the bench, turning toward the kitchen. but she doesn't make it even one step from the entryway — frozen with one foot hovered in the air, poised to take that step — before something registers in the back of her mind.
and she can hear it, the way it sort of swishes back and forth, the momentum of the door closing causing it to sway from where it hangs on the doorknob. she can't bring herself to look, yet, gaze shooting back to the panel by the door where she'd just pressed in her code. it had been armed when she entered, which means someone had to bypass it to get in. so much for security.
her heart finds its way into her throat, threatening to choke her, and beth is already struggling to breathe when she finally turns, the pounding in her ears seeming an almost fitting percussion to the swishing sound as it begins to slow. seeing them hanging there — it's reminiscent of another time, a callback to the start, and that feels ominous in its own right — does that make this the end?
her hand is shaking as she reaches for them, the iridescent shimmer almost blinding in the light that peeks in through the window, and beth swallows hard when her fingers make contact with the pearls. she wants to not believe it, wants to imagine this is some cruel joke, maybe played by one of his boys, someone who isn't pleased with the way things went down.
but no. it's too personal, means too much, speaks too many warnings, too many threats.
and she knows that's what this is. it isn't a calling card, not in the way it had been when she'd done the same, but a threat. it's a warning that she was never free to begin with, that she's still barely keeping her head above water, and now comes the storm.
why then — as she pulls them free from the door, thumb pressing over each pearl reverently as though they're some holy thing, and she's silently speaking her prayers — does beth suddenly feel relieved?